Daughter Dearest
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Much as Chris hated to admit it, he had to face the truth - he was getting old. He couldn't stay in the field forever.


**Daughter Dearest**

"I'll see you soon Stephanie. Love you."

Chris Redfield turns off the phone and sighs. That was a call that lasted far longer than he anticipated. Of course, Stephanie Redfield, the most important person in his life, is owed at least some of his time, but "some" is the key word of that sentence. Ten minutes is next to nothing in the greater scheme of things, but it's seven minutes longer than he intended. And in a world such as this, where he's only alive right now because he wasn't a few minutes late (self-destruct sequences tend to operate like that)…well, it's given Chris Redfield a pretty solid understanding of how time works.

He's going to die someday. By all rights he should be dead at least eight times already. Nine if you include that little incident in Mongolia, but, well, no-one talks about Mongolia. Even fewer people that talk about Louisiana. Granted, one's a country, the other's a state, but, well, if things go according to plan, no-one will be talking about the events of the past few days in any public capacity.

That's how life rolls. And all things considered, the less people who talk about things like this, the better. Nineteen years on, people are still talking about Raccoon City. Four years on, people are still talking about Lanshiang and Tall Oaks. If all goes according to plan, no-one's going to be talking about the Baker Family of Dulvey. They'll join the ranks of the last two decades' sordid history of bio-terror.

"Everything okay?"

He looks at Veronica Darling. "Fine," he says.

"You sure? Looking at your face, it looked like you wanted to end that conversation early."

He shrugs.

"Special someone, right?"

"Could say that."

"Well, I guess-"

"Why are you here?" he asks.

If Veronica is taken aback by the interruption, she gives no indication. "Veronica." It's a name that's seared into his mind. Rockfort Island and Umbrella's base in Antarctica are among the incidents that few people know about, and he's fine with it being that way. They're not even incidents that haunt his dreams that much, least in comparison to more recent events. Still, some things remain. He hears the name "Veronica," at best, he thinks of a centuries dead aristocrat. At worse, the sight of a monstrosity, the smell of burning blood…they come rushing back to him.

"Actually, I'm joining you on the flight back to Atlanta," she says.

Chris doesn't bother trying to hide his frustration. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Actually, you're…" She sighs. "Okay. You're fine. But as the BSAA's liaison with Blue Umbrella-"

"I wasn't aware shooting mould monsters counted as being a liaison."

"…I need to go over this paperwork with you. Should only take a few hours. Long enough to last the flight."

Chris sighs. He really wanted a quiet flight back home. Killing mould monsters is actually quite exhausting. Maybe not as exhausting as killing zombies or majini, or any other spawn of a virus or parasite, but still…it's exhausting. Life's been exhausting for close to twenty years.

"I can see you're thrilled," Veronica says, smiling. She heads over to a parked car, one that'll take her to the main highway adjacent to the Baker ranch. "See you there Mister Redfield."

"Yeah," he murmurs, watching her get into the vehicle. "See you there."

The vehicle heads off, leaving Chris alone. Surrounded by Blue Umbrella mercs, sure, but still…alone.

He tells himself that it'll be different. That as soon as he's back in the field with men and women he'd trust his life with, he'll be back at home. He'll be wearing an insignia that means something to him, not one that fills him with disgust. He tells himself that life will get back to normal.

He tells himself that, even though he knows he's good at lying.

* * *

The flight to Atlanta is as tedious as he expected it to be. Sure, the private plane Veronica's chartered has a mini-bar, but no matter how good the ginger beer is, it does nothing to alleviate the tedium of…whatever the hell this is.

He's familiar with paperwork. He used to work with the RPD for Christ sakes. 90% of his time there was spent in the office dealing with paperwork. He submitted so much paperwork after the Mansion Incident that he's surprised the Amazon still exists. He submitted paperwork to Irons, the FBI, the NSA, even the French Secret Service in a bid to get them to investigate Umbrella's Paris office. All that paperwork, and it accomplished nothing. When Umbrella fell…well, granted, paperwork might have done some of the job with the Raccoon Trials, but he and Jill were there in Russia. The pen might be mightier than the sword, but it sure as hell isn't mightier than hot lead.

"And we're done," Veronica says. She shifts the paper over. "Sign here please."

Chris grunts and gives his signature.

"And here."

He looks at her, to say "seriously?" But regardless, he signs on the line below the above line.

_God help you if there's a third._

"And…we're done."

"Thought you said we were done three seconds ago."

"Turn of phrase. Sorry about that." She takes the papers and puts them in her briefcase. What remains is the sound of the plane's engines, and…well, little else actually.

"So," Veronica says, looking at her watch. "Two hours to go. One hour, fifty-five minutes if you want to be precise."

"I'm fine with being precise," Chris says. He takes a sip of the ginger beer.

"Fair enough." She looks at him, or, staying in the spirit of preciseness, at what he's drinking. "You know, you don't need to pay for the minibar. I can get-"

"I'm fine with ginger beer," Chris says, taking another sip. "Alcohol and me…well, we've got a history."

"Ah yes. I read your file. After Edonia, didn't you-"

"Never said I was happy in sharing that history."

Veronica takes the hint…for about five seconds. Because the next words that come out of her mouth make it clear that she hasn't taken the hint that he just wants to finish his ginger beer and get some sleep.

"You don't like me, do you?" she asks eventually.

Chris isn't sure how to respond to that, so he doesn't say anything.

"I mean, I get it," she says. "You and Umbrella have a history-"

"_Had_ a history," Chris corrects.

"Fair point," Veronica responds. "Yet it's clear you're carrying a grudge."

Chris grunts.

"And I get why," she says. "I mean, the name Umbrella-"

"I've got nothing against the name of Umbrella," Chris says. "I've got things against the people who work for Umbrella."

"_Worked _for Umbrella."

"Worked," Chris concedes, taking a sip. "Fine. Let's talk past tense. You used to work for Umbrella Inc. Over half the people in Blue Umbrella worked for Umbrella Inc. Over seventy-five percent of the mercs of Red Umbrella worked for Umbrella Inc., and whatever the hell Neo-Umbrella is supposed to be, they chose the name for a reason."

"As did we," Veronica says.

"Like I said, I've got nothing against names," he says. "Just people."

"Ergo, me," Veronica says.

"Maybe," Chris murmurs. "I don't know how much you knew before the Raccoon Trials. In fact…" He takes a breath, before saying, "what did you do anyway?"

"Accounting," Veronica says.

He blinks. "Accounting?"

"Yes. And believe me, dealing with a lawsuit over the deaths of 100,000 people, plus damages…well, that kept me busy. I…" She stops, and takes off her glasses. "Sorry. That sounds insensitive."

Chris shrugs. "Stopped being sensitive awhile ago."

"Oh I don't believe that," Veronica says. "But be that as it may, well, believe it or not, it's not a nice feeling to discover that the pharmaceutical company you work for was developing bio-organic weapons on the side. Or that it was maintaining paramilitary forces. Or that…well, y'know…"

Chris does know. Or, at least he has an idea. He used to work for S.T.A.R.S. Having your CO be a triple agent and attempt genocide…tends to give a man perspective on what evils can reside close to you.

"So, yes, I get that you have an axe to grind," Veronica says. "And yes, maybe we're stepping on the BSAA's turf. But we're all in this together. Believe me or not, I want to help clean up the mess Umbrella created. Because I can admit my complicity in what they did, even if I was removed from Umbrella's shadier aspects."

"Oh I can believe that," Chris says. "But what about your men?" He leans forward. "USS? UBCS?"

"Some," Veronica murmurs.

"And others?"

She shrugs. "PMCs pay well."

"Yeah. I bet." He leans back in his chair and looks out the window. Clear skies. Wonderful.

"What about you?" Veronica asks. "How does the BSAA pay?"

He smirks. "You trying to recruit me?"

"Maybe. Still, what with you being a family man now…"

"My file's open. My family's isn't."

"Fair point," Veronica says. "But…"

Chris sighs – the chance of sleep is getting more and more remote. "Fine," he says. "Let's hear the sales pitch. You want me."

"I want you?"

"In a professional manner," he says hastily – he's a married man, and married men don't do affairs (or, they do, but…well, not him). "And fine. You want me in the field fighting the good fight and-"

"Actually, I was thinking more of an advisory role."

"…what?"

"An advisory role. No field work."

"No field work," Chris repeats, dumbstruck.

"Yes. I mean, you're…what? Forty-three?"

"Forty-four."

"Forty-four," Veronica repeats. She gives his arm a playful nudge. "Not exactly a spring chicken anymore are you?"

Chris winces. "Your point?"

"My point is that I've read your file. And I can't help but wonder how much further you can go."

"How much further I can go is my business," Chris says.

"Perhaps. Still…" She sighs. "Tell me honestly Chris. If I were to send you into the field alone, right here, right now…would you be able to do it? Could you honestly say you could flip, shoot, and hell, punch boulders like you used to?"

_How the hell do you know about…? _He takes a breath. "What's it to you?"

"Well, if you did join Blue Umbrella, everything," she says. "If not, well, I imagine it would still be of interest to the BSAA. And if anything happened to you, your family-"

"I told you, leave my family out of this."

"Okay. I will. But I figure that sooner or later, you're going to have to retire from active fieldwork and-"

"No," he says, getting to his feet. "I'm done."

He turns around and walks towards the other end of the plane.

Truth hurts. And his bones are aching.

* * *

_Ya gotta know, deep down somewhere, they were still your family and they loved you. Especially your daddy…even in his final days._

He doesn't know why he hears Joe Baker's words in his head when he wakes up. Maybe all of Veronica's talk about families. Or maybe he's just going crazy. One or the other.

He's got a small travel case when he steps off the plane with Veronica. He's in civilian clothes, and he's hating the feeling. The way she looks at him, she can tell that he is. Maybe she's going to take the hint that even as the big 50 rumbles towards him, he's still going to be a field agent, because, hell, what else is there?

"Here," she says, as they reach the tarmac. "Take this."

He takes "this," specifically, an envelope.

"You'll find two things inside," Veronica continues. "One is my business card. The other is a number."

He snorts. "Bribery?"

"No. Just an offer."

"Right." He pockets the envelope. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I doubt you will, but still, one can hope." She looks at the black car approaching the plane. "Travel's here. You want a lift?"

"No. Family's here."

"Ah yes. I'm sure Stephanie will be glad to see you."

Chris just nods, and remains quiet as Veronica walks over to the car. Like before, the door's opened for her by one of her staff members. Unlike before, she turns, and talks to him.

"We're not bad people Chris. Just keep your options open."

He doesn't say anything. He just watches her enter the car, and watch it drive off. It's only when it's out of sight that he opens the envelope. He sees Veronica Darling's business card, stamped with the logo of Blue Umbrella. And more importantly, he sees the piece of scrap paper that she's included, and the number written on it.

"Holy shit," he whispers.

He wants to think himself above it. Still, the BSAA only pays so much and-

No. He can't think about that. Not without discussion at least.

He wheels up his bag and begins to walk.

* * *

It takes quite awhile to enter the arrivals area. It's a domestic flight, but this is America – Raccoon City might be remembered for one reason, but New York is remembered for another. Maybe two reasons, after the A-virus outbreak, but point being, security is tight. It'll probably always be tight. If there's a world that exists without terror of any kind, he doubts it's a world that he's going to live to see.

Maybe Stephanie will though. Stephanie Redfield, who waves to him on the other side of the gate. Stephanie Redfield, who comes running towards him. Stephanie Redfield, who's the most important person in his life, who he's known for the past three years. Stephanie Redfield, who he smiles at, and meets her hug.

"Daddy!" she exclaims.

"Hey kiddo." He kneels down – God his legs are aching. Much of his body's aching. "You been good?"

She nods as only a three year old can. The type of nod that says "maybe" rather than "yes."

"Actually, she has been good," Stephanie's mother says. She ruffles Stephanie's hair. "Little scamp."

Chris gets to his feet – his legs are still aching. He hopes it doesn't show on his face, but he's afraid as to what it means. What it'll mean for him. What it'll mean for the world. What change always means.

"Hey," he says.

Still, his life changes four years ago. Changed again a year after that.

"Hey," his wife says.

They hug each other. It's not the most romantic of embraces, least to the outside eye, but then, it doesn't have to be. They know. Jill knows. Sometimes, Chris thinks she knows more than he knows. Especially when it comes to changing times.

She breaks out of the embrace and licks her finger.

"Jill?"

"Here." She starts running it above his left eye. "You've got dirt."

"Seriously?"

"Daddy's dirty, daddy's dirty!"

"Hold still, let me get it." She draws back. "There. All better."

"Mummy, why's daddy dirty? Daddy always says I have to be clean."

"And you do," Jill says. "Daddy…daddy sometimes has to get dirty though."

Chris is grateful for the choice of words. He's grateful to Jill for a lot of things.

"So," Jill says. "You want coffee before we go?"

Coffee. It's come to coffee.

"Yeah. Sure."

Granted, some things can begin over coffee, but he can't help but feel it's a time of ending as well. A sign of things to come.

"Can I have coffee?" Stephanie asks.

"No, but if you're good, you can have a milkshake."

"Yay!"

Chris gives Jill a look. She gives him a look in turn. Milkshakes are one thing. Field work, and of everything he's going to tell her…that's another. That, unlike milkshakes, can wake.

He's going to tell her though. Because that's what family members do.

They don't keep secrets.

And they love each other until the end.

* * *

_A/N_

_So, haven't played _Resident Evil 7_, but watching footage of it, something did strike me about Chris, and not just his appearance - is he getting older? Like, two games ago he was running around like a spring chicken, now he's slowly walking through a salt mine._

_Of course, the mechanical (and 'true') explanation for this is that it's down to the nature of the game. RE7 is slower paced than 5/6, so ergo, this is even going to transfer to how one plays Chris. Still, it did give me the idea of it having in-universe rationale. I mean, in-game, he's nearly 50, so unless the series stops moving forward into the future, chances are that at some point, many of the original cast members (and by original I mean those who debuted in RE1/2) are going to have to retire or something._

_Anyway, drabbled this up._


End file.
